Dancing on the Bar
by OgygiaSylph
Summary: When DM finds GW dancing on the bar at one of London's fanciest nightclubs,he is more than a little bit surprised.Intrigued,he finds himself drawn to her;the interest seems reciprocal.Little does he know that G is looking for more than sex,money,or love.
1. Chapter 1

**New Moon**

When Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini showed up at the door of New Moon, the massive bouncer had the good grace to step aside. The club, which had reopened its doors but a few weeks prior, was in dire need of patrons such as these, and the bouncer, though of limited intellectual capacity, was no stranger to the fact. The two handsome, young men strolled into the club, shoulders straight and chins held high, the flickering lamplight taking nothing from their aristocratic elegance. Blaise nodded slightly to the witch at the welcome booth. She immediately whispered something into the ear of another, equally pretty witch, who caught up with the two purebloods and escorted them to their private table.

The blaring base of the multiple speakers accompanied the trio into the main room, where a spectacular dance floor boasted several bars and about twice as many private tables. The latter could be isolated at will by a translucent membrane, which rose and fell at the flick of a switch and could filter both the music and undesirable company. At this late hour in the night, most tables were taken by prominent figures of the wizarding world. Draco quickly acknowledged Astoria Greengrass's presence at a nearby table; disappointed by their fruitless relationship, she had been quick to find comfort in an Italian wizard's arms and was celebrating her last night as an unwed woman in the company of her sister and their mutual friends.

Blaise and Draco sat down and ordered two bottles of champagne, one of which was to be sent to the future Astoria Marcolini's table. With casual interest, their eyes scanned the dance floor.

"I like the new decoration," Blaise observed.

"I'm not sure what to make of the oversized bubbles floating about," Draco said.

"I'm sure we'll find out what they're for soon enough."

White and blue spots of light flew across the room, making the sparkly dresses and jewellery of various witches shine in their path. The dance floor grew increasingly full as witches dragged their friends along and their male companions stood on the side, holding the champagne glasses and waiting to be sufficiently inebriated to join the women.

"I haven't seen Ana in a little while," Draco said. "Where have you been keeping her?"

"She went back to St. Petersburg," Blaise replied with a shrug. "She was a dear, but you know how these Eastern Europeans are."

"I'd say England has its fair share of gold-diggers, too," Draco pointed out.

"Yes, but – ah, the purpose of the bubbles becomes clear."

Indeed, five barely clad women now stood inside the bubbles, as though suspended in water. Their graceful movements accompanied the beat of the music, the strings of beads that hung from their belts and bracelets making trails of colour as their limbs undulated in rhythm. Each time they touched the surface of a bubble, it glowed a different colour, casting waves of light onto the crowd beneath them. Suddenly, right in the center of the room, an additional bubble appeared. It found its place amongst the other ones, and then a bright flash lit the room. When people looked up, they saw that the sixth woman had arrived, effortlessly putting her companions to shame.

She was naked but for two golden bands that wrapped across her hips and torso. Her entire body was covered in gold paint, making her flaming red hair seem like the natural complement to her dazzling skin. Less shapely than the other girls, whose curves could have found equals only in erotic film stars, she captured the eye by her demeanour rather than her anatomy. Her body swayed as if transported by the beat, so beautifully and so naturally that she seemed to have music coursing through her veins. An inexpressible bliss lit her face and fuelled her gestures. She seemed on the verge of an ecstasy brought about by dancing, and that very fact made her the very best dancer most wizards present had ever seen.

Breathless like the rest, although he easily hid it behind a façade of indifference, Draco followed the nymph's gestures with growing pleasure. He wondered how it would feel to have her dancing against him like that – the golden paint set aside – with the reckless abandon and joy that burned through her without distorting her dance in any way. Below the bubbles, witches and wizards kept dancing unperturbed, unaware of the stunning spectacle taking place above them. The girl, lively and gracious as a music sprite, danced on.

"Well, well, if it isn't the Weasley girl," Blaise muttered, awe piercing his voice.

Draco only had to keep watching to see that his friend was right. This was indeed the girl who had held Hogwarts' male population on its knees, panting for a chance. He was surprised that Potter let her do this, as he would never have allowed her such behaviour had she been his girlfriend.

"Wasn't she dating Potter?" he asked.

Blaise shook his head distantly, enraptured.

"They broke things off about a year ago. Weren't you reading the tabloids?"

"No, I was trying to stay out of them."

The dark-skinned wizard shrugged but did not dispense Draco with an additional glance. His mind was obviously set on finding out whether the redhead would be willing to console herself in his muscular arms. From the fun she seemed to be having, Draco doubted the woman needed much consoling, and allowed himself to watch, with barely concealed desire, the human fairy dancing in her bubble.

An hour or so later and still she danced, her stamina undiminished, her enthusiasm if anything increased. Below her, the dance floor had somewhat emptied as alcohol and the late hour took their toll. Some witches struggled not to stumble, the fight against inebriety and the pain from their high-heeled shoes already lost. At last, the girls in the bubbles vanished. Soon after, Blaise rose without a word. Draco assumed he was headed to the loo and proceeded to empty yet another flute of champagne, gazing around for a witch he could eventually bring home. Somehow he was no longer as thrilled by the prospect as he had been earlier.

A while later, Draco noticed that his friend hadn't returned. Annoyed, he let his eyes search for the handsome wizard, half-expecting to find him cozying up to a passably intoxicated woman. He found him at one of the bars and immediately headed for him, utterly unfazed by the unmistakeably feminine silhouette he was speaking to. Around them, the music had faded to a languorous rhythm. The lounge-like sonorities melted with the fauve lighting to create a rich, sensual, and laidback atmosphere. From up close, Draco had no difficulty identifying the woman as the Weasley girl, now clad in very simple black pants and a tank-top, her hair tied in a loose bun. She appeared distinctly uncomfortable, and shot Draco a wary and annoyed glance as he approached.

"Come on, Jenny—" Blaise was saying.

"It's Ginevra," she snapped.

"Ginevra," he whispered, his eyes darker than usual. "We both know you need the money, and I'm not asking for much."

"I already told you," she bit back, "I'm a dancer, not a prostitute."

"Let's not use such crude terms, Ginevra. I'm merely looking for a bit of good time, and –"

"Not – with – me," she growled.

She was visibly angry and kept glancing to Blaise's hand, which was firmly wrapped around her arm, but made no attempt to leave. Draco wondered why she, who had never been known for her subtlety in saying "no" and probably had half a dozen bouncers watching over her at this very minute, did not get rid of this man whose behaviour, Draco had to admit, was surprisingly audacious. Distantly feeling like a night in shining armour, Draco stepped in.

"Blaise, they want to give us a complimentary bottle. Why don't you go pick something you like?"

A flame of irritation shot through Blaise's eyes but vanished just as quickly, replaced by a charming and obedient smile.

"Of course. Ginevra," he said, bowing slightly over her hand.

As soon as he had left, Ginny eased noticeably. She remained on her guard, however, and turned to Draco with a hint of defiance.

"What do you want?"

"To rid you of Blaise, obviously."

She stared at him, incredulity painted on her fair features.

"Sure, Malfoy."

"I'm Draco. Pleasure to meet you."

Ginny rolled her eyes but afforded him a small smile.

"Ginevra. Now what do you want?"

"So you work here as a dancer," he said, ignoring her tone.

"Obviously."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

Draco smirked and enjoyed the way her eyes flickered when he did that.

"I can't help but wonder how that horde of overprotective brothers of yours would let you do that."

Ginny shrugged gracefully.

"You won't be surprised to hear that I need the money."

His eyes widened ever so slightly at that.

"So this is your job?"

"Apparently."

They sat in an awkward silence for a while. Draco had a hard time believing that Arthur Weasley, who had been doing rather well for himself, could not support his youngest child.

"It helps me pay for the Mediwitch training. Those two years are surprisingly expensive, and after seven children at Hogwarts, well… I felt kind of bad asking my parents to keep supporting me."

Her admission had eased the tension. The smile that accompanied it made the atmosphere melt somewhat, allowing Draco to pursue the conversation.

"Since when do you want to become a Mediwitch?"

"Well, after I realized Harry Potter-worship was not a viable line of work, I decided being a Mediwitch was what I wanted to do. I was fairly good in Charms, Potions, and Transfiguration, so from there on it was a fairly easy trek – finances set aside."

Draco nodded but refrained from commenting. The only thing that came to mind were insults, and he supposed that was not the best way to woo the young woman.

"How far along are you?"

"Halfway through my second and final year. I'm almost done dancing on the bar," she added, winking.

"In the bubbles, you mean."

"Weekend nights are in the bubble, weekdays are on the bar."

"You're an excellent dancer," he said as noncommittally as he could.

She stared at him pointedly.

"Malfoy, what are you playing at?"

"Draco."

"Whatever."

"Can't I just be complimenting a future Healer on her surprising skills at dancing?"

She blushed then, but he could tell it was not from pleasure or sheepishness.

"What do you mean, 'surprising'?" she hissed.

Belatedly, he realized that his comment was not the most stellar example of his wit and charm. He promptly berated himself for the momentary loss of his smooth tongue.

"I mean that I didn't expect you, Ginny Weasley, to be dancing like a professional in London's fanciest nightclub."

"I am a professional," she said dismissively, a hint of pride creeping into her voice. She smiled impishly at him then. "You should have seen Harry's face when he first saw me here."

"Oh?" was all Draco could muster. Though he no longer loathed the bespectacled wizard, he did not particularly enjoy discussions revolving around his ex-nemesis – especially when the discussion was held with said nemesis' ex-girlfriend.

"I think his first instinct was to get me down from there." She grinned evilly. "Little Miss Demelza Robins had to beg him not to. I'm sure the bouncers helped as well."

"You don't seem too fond of Miss Robins."

"You wouldn't be either if the love of your life started dating her three weeks after your break-up."

"I'm sorry," he offered unconvincingly.

"I'm not. At least she'll be the one dealing with Harry's fame and the associated invasions of privacy. Not to mention, the twins don't like her," she added, as a purely Machiavellian gleam shot through her golden eyes.

Very few wizards still remained. Standing amongst his alcohol bottles and sparkling clean glasses, the bartender eyed the couple with interest. He had recognized Draco Malfoy easily and was surprised to find him conversing pleasantly with Ginny; if he remembered anything from his years at Hogwarts, their respective families had not been particularly friendly. He had seen both Slytherins walk up to the redhead and couldn't help but question their motives. Ginny seemed amused enough, however, so the bartender didn't step in. When she pushed her empty glass toward him, she gave him a nod that confirmed his thoughts.

"Well, Draco, it was nice running into you," Ginny said pleasantly enough. "I'm going to head home, though. I have classes tomorrow."

Draco stood as she did, absently noting that her figure was even nicer from up close.

"Will you allow me to escort you to the door?"

"In case I get lost on my way out?" she snickered. "Sure, why not."

They headed for the door around the time that the lights came on, allowing Ginny to get a good glance at her renewed acquaintance. She remembered him from Hogwarts, when the war and Voldemort's expectations had exacted their toll from his already pointy face and wiry limbs. No longer did shadows find a resting place in the hollows below his cheeks or in the creases around his eyes. No longer did the spectre of greater, darker things coat his gestures with the nervousness of a tracked animal. He had grown into his body and acquired the feline elegance that had been Lucius Malfoy's, his features becoming handsome and his air naturally refined as peace settled in. Ginny surprised herself by finding him attractive, and rewarded him with a smile when he helped her put on her coat.

She liked men who treated her like a lady. Draco knew she would, as most women did, and he took the childish gratitude in her smile as his trophy for the evening. They stepped out into the street, soft snow flurries dappling their coats with dark spots. The streetlights shone oddly as they usually do when the air is wet, coating the humid pavement with a shiny film. A chilly wind whirled around them. It hastened their perfunctory goodbyes, and but a few minutes later, both wizards had Apparated away.


	2. Chapter 2

**2. Forbidden Fruit**

That afternoon, the air had this very unique quality that is typical of the coldest winter days. Crisp and sharp, it would have chilled most wizards to the bone had their coats not been laden with warming spells. A bright, unforgiving sun shone high above, having managed to chase away the usual London clouds without granting a hint of heat to the city's inhabitants. Ginny loved that weather, as it allowed her to pile layer upon layer of Weasley sweaters and scarves. She herself had taken to knitting hats and gloves, to her brothers' greatest despair and her mother's barely hidden pride, and currently boasted an impressive set of rainbow gloves and a bright green and yellow hat. To say that she stood out in the crowd would have been a euphemism. Perhaps that is the reason why Draco, having spotted her, had no difficulty identifying her.

"Weasley!" he called.

She turned with a smile, which fell as soon as she saw who her interlocutor was. Regardless, she stopped and allowed him to catch up with her. Draco refrained from commenting upon her garish clothing and opted instead for platitudes as he tried to figure out what had made him strike up a conversation.

"Hey, Malfoy."

"I told you, it's Draco."

"You can't expect me to call you Draco when you bark 'Weasley!' from across the street to catch my attention," she responded, a hint of amusement piercing through her voice.

"I suppose not. I'll make a point to call you 'Ginny' from now on, Ginny," he said, bowing slightly, his voice unctuous like a spoonful of honey.

She rolled her eyes.

"Is there anything you wanted? To comment on my dancing skills, perhaps, or my absolutely superb winter garb?"

He stared at her, wondering if the look he had cast toward her ridiculous mittens had been that obvious.

"What are you up to?" he asked.

"I'm getting lunch," she answered naturally, casting a quick look to the building from which she had emerged.

Draco did not have to follow her gaze to know that the Auror Headquarters stood there, having spent his fair amount of time there trying to defend himself and his parents. He did not hold the building particularly close to his heart, though he had to recognize that he had always been treated decently there, and that most Aurors he had met had known better than to let their vindication interfere with the treatment of prisoners.

"Care to join me?" Draco offered, and was surprised when she accepted with a simple nod.

She let him lead her, not particularly eager to humiliate herself by taking him to the usual luncheonette where she liked to have her meals. They pushed their way through the crowd, Draco's broad shoulders making her progress noticeably easier; Ginny appreciated that gesture, having had to deal with decades of being shoved around by careless strangers, let alone her brothers. They took a seat in a quiet, secluded little restaurant of Draco's choice, called "The Forbidden Fruit." The maitre d', upon seeing the young man, had immediately escorted them to a booth lost under vines and ivy. The modern and minimalist décor of the place was ornamented with a slew of plants, flowers, fruits, and vegetables alike, brightening the setting.

"Have you ever been here?" Draco asked, after he had helped her into her seat.

"No, but I wish I had. I never suspected that such a lovely little restaurant existed next to the Headquarters."

"The Headquarters?"

He wondered why she averted her eyes then.

"The Auror Headquarters."

"I thought you were training to be a Healer."

"I am. I was just visiting Harry."

Draco could not tell whether the feeling of unease that caught him then stemmed from his distaste of Potter and the possibility that she was still infatuated with him, or from her subtle unease.

"Saint Potter still has his adorers?" He couldn't help but snicker.

"Harry has his friends," she said in a voice that didn't seem entirely truthful. "What were _you_ doing in Diagon Alley, then?"

"I had an appointment with our lawyers concerning a new acquisition."

"Please don't give me any additional details, lest I suffer from the overabundance of details."

He shot her an amused look, then took her hands between his and peered meaningfully – and, he hoped, seductively – into her eyes.

"Ah, but Ginny, if I told you I would have to kill you."

Her amber eyes turned cold with such rapidity that Draco was stunned. The flicker of anger and profound defiance that ran across her face then and there was powerful and acute, and so unlike her distantly pleasant demeanour that he wondered if it wasn't all an act. But her gaze softened and she laughed quietly, even rewarding him with a delicate and playful tap on the shoulder.

"Draco Malfoy, ever the mysterious bad boy," she teased.

He nearly choked on the wine the sommelier had just given him to taste, but hid it well. Her temper seemed as volatile as any other Weasley's, but her expressions were unfortunately not as easy to decipher. He accepted the wine, which prompted the sommelier to pour the topaz-coloured liquid into both their glasses. With a small nod, he retired.

"You know, I have never been to a restaurant and actually had the sommelier pour the wine," Ginny observed.

"That's because you lack my supremacy and influence."

"After the war, I did not expect your supremacy and influence to mean much anymore," she replied bluntly.

Draco smirked, looking very much like the debonair playboy so many smitten witches and several wizards accused him of being.

"Amazing what the Malfoy name and my mind-numbing charm can do."

"I was thinking more of money," she said, thoughtfully running her full lips along the rim of her wine glass.

"Money is not sufficient to erase everything that's been done, Ginny."

"Is it not?" she asked, more than mere curiosity or amusement showing in her candid face.

He was sure he saw it again, this hint that they were both privy to some dark secret she was hoping he'd reveal. Draco could not figure out for the life of him what she may have been alluding to, and decided that he would rely on the aforementioned Malfoy charm to quell her suspicion.

"You know as well as I do that it isn't. What world would we be living in if that were the case?"

"One where Death Eaters hide in the most respectable families."

"You know these families have been trying their best to put the past behind them and make as many amends as they can."

"Yours included."

"Mine included," he said, perhaps a bit too harshly. He had been goaded many times before, having even had people whisper "Death Eater" as they walked passed him in Diagon Alley, but his struggles to brilliantly reintegrate into the wizarding high society had so far been met with success, and these attacks had not had any impact on his confidence.

"Yet here you are, free as a bird."

"Here I am, indeed, fighting tooth and nail to regain what my father's choices took away from us. I was seventeen when all of this ended, Ginevra," he snapped. "I know I've committed my fair share of crimes, but I'm doing everything that's in my power to—"

"I understand," Ginny said gently, as she put her hand on his. "I apologize. It was not my position to make such comments."

He was as surprised by the contact of her skin as he was by the patience he saw in her eyes, and decided to drop the argument as quickly as he could. Already an insistent bitterness pooled at the back of his throat. He was all too eager to get rid of it and of any remnant of the war. Immediately appeased, Draco nodded.

"So, aside from meeting with lawyers and roving through nightclubs, how do you occupy your time?"

"I don't 'rove,' I visit."

"Semantics," she replied, grinning.

Draco shrugged and sliced his filet mignon with precision. A translucent juice bubbled from the meat.

"You'd be surprised to find that lawyers unfortunately occupy most of my time, and that galas, fundraisers, and social gatherings are the tragic burden of any Malfoy. I do occasionally help the Ministry with their foreign diplomacy issues, but that's more of a pastime than anything."

"Foreign diplomacy issues?"

"I'm sure that you noticed, during the Triwizard Tournament, how different the various wizarding cultures can be."

Ginny nodded, fascinated by Draco's voice and the smoothness of his movements.

"Blunders are regularly made by our diplomats, and I'm usually sent to even things out."

"Even things out?" She looked dubious.

"Send the Ministry's most formal apologies with a case of champagne, an expensive bouquet, or an invitation to the opera. The fact that I am fluent in several languages and well-travelled definitely helps, but I'm tempted to say that my dashing good looks and sparkling intellect are what make me the best at this."

Ginny ignored the blatant self-praise in the hopes that she would let herself forget how well deserved it was.

"So you're a professional apologizer? Who would have thought…"

Draco scowled at her.

"I wouldn't put it that way."

The eyebrow she raised was so dubious that he doubted any further protestation would help to convince her. He suggested dessert and she gladly accepted, admitting a sweet tooth that had made her stare with envy at his parcels of candy during his days at Hogwarts.

"Really. You were spying on me back at that time?"

"Please," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "I was too busy mooning after Harry, though I will admit that those chocolate frogs your mum sent you looked so tender I debated high-jacking that owl more than once."

"I would have caught you."

"I know," she replied, blushing fiercely. "What with all those tracking spells and your owl's foul temper…"

"Did you actually try it?" Draco laughed.

"I rather seriously considered it. The spells were a bit too complicated for me, though, and I didn't feel like involving Hermione or she would have given me a lecture about respecting others' property and what not."

"You're lucky I didn't find you or I would have given you much more than that."

"I know!" she said again. "Going from calling me 'dirt poor' to a 'filthy robber' was probably next on your list anyway."

"That or spanking you," Draco said, amused, twirling his wine glass between his fingers.

Ginny looked shocked, but she quickly hid it behind a smile.

"Who knew Malfoys had a sense of humour?"

"I suppose it took Voldemort's death to give it a chance of survival," Draco murmured darkly.

"To the survival of humour," Ginny said, lifting her glass.

"That, and the rest, yes," Draco responded, gently bumping his glass against hers.

He was pleasantly surprised by the casualness and fun that infused their conversation. She was as natural as he remembered her from his fourth and fifth year, though she had lost that excessive, boisterous vibe that had made her so plebeian. A calm elation had replaced it, and Draco found himself enjoying it about as much as he had her captivating display of dancing skills. He was suddenly glad of not having Blaise's direct, and frequently uncouth, manners where women were concerned.

As Draco dug into his crème brulee, making even that simple act look utterly dignified, Ginny observed him. She was falling prey to his legendary charm, she knew, but her knowledge of his character remained a substantial barrier between them. Something about some of the things he had said, about his casual flirting with her, made her feel like she had stumbled onto an unexpected facet of Draco Malfoy, one that was perhaps in line with her investigation. For that reason, and that reason alone – or so she told herself – Ginny was glad that Draco had approached her.

"Sweet Merlin, this chocolate fondant is amazing," she exclaimed upon tasting her own dessert.

"That's what I like about this restaurant. Their cuisine is incredibly healthy, with more than enough organic vegetables to fill your plate and decorate the room, but they make up for this quasi-Spartan approach to food by rewarding you with truculent desserts. I'm glad that you find the latter to your taste."

"That's quite the euphemism," Ginny said, looking down at her now-empty plate.

Even the pistachio ice cream that had accompanied the cake had been scraped clean using a few raspberries. Ginny felt the sugar rushing through her veins and flashed a brilliant smile at Draco.

"Brilliant choice," she confirmed.

"I know," he replied without any hint of modesty.

She smirked and made to intercept the bill as the waiter brought it to their table, but Draco was swifter and eyed her amusedly.

"Please," he said, "allow me."

"I couldn't –" she began, but the look he gave her dissolved her protestations.

In one, graceful gesture, he signed the bill that had been handed to him. Ginny guessed that his signature was worth many Galleons, and knew that wealthy wizards had the possibility of having Gringotts deal directly with their debitors. As they rose to leave, she placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you very much for inviting me," she said.

"On the contrary, thank you for having joined me," he said very naturally, as though Weasleys and Malfoys hadn't hated each other for generations and she were a lady worthy of being treated to lunch.

Once outside, Ginny was startled by the cold as it lashed against her layers of knitted garments. They stood oddly in the street, their breaths making little puffs of smoke in the frigid air.

"Where are you headed?" he asked casually.

She shot him a quick look before blushing.

"I, uh… I think I left something with Harry."

Draco raised an eyebrow at her.

"I'll go and get it before I return to the Mediwizard Commons," she added brightly, though her eyes did not meet his.

With the distinct feeling that Ginny was not entirely over her ex-boyfriend, Draco nodded, cursing the spark of frustration that ran through him. Would Potter always be in the way of everything he attempted to do, including striking a friendship with the charming Ginny Weasley? The young man almost sighed but, politely, took Ginny's hand and kissed it. He doubted Potter had ever done _that_.

"Until next time," he said.

"Goodbye," Ginny responded, smiling, then sauntered away.

He watched her colourful figure disappear in the grey crowd and headed home, where his father awaited him to discuss family issues. Suddenly the day seemed a little bit colder.

Ginny, meanwhile, reached the Auror Headquarters within a few minutes. She passed the security checks easily, muttered a few passwords, and headed to her office in the Department of Hit Wizards. There, she sat down, conjured a mug of strong mint tea, and pulled out a fairly thick folder from one of her drawers. For the umpteenth time, she reviewed the information there, although she had read it so many times she was beginning to feel that she knew all the facts by heart.

In the past two years, three witches had been found in the most disturbing set of circumstances that Ginny had encountered in her career as a Hit Wizard. Their bodies had been decorated with all sorts of elaborate glyphs, carved into their skin post-mortem. From what their Rune Experts had gathered, the glyphs lauded the pursuit of pleasure and the supremacy of hedonist doctrines: sumptuous and beautifully executed, they mingled illustrations of flowers and birds with tales of fantastic feasts, sexual orgies, and moments of supreme bliss. Ginny, fascinated at first by the beauty of the depictions, had been abruptly brought back to reality upon realizing that the women who boasted these superb tattoos would no longer experience the pleasures of life, and had probably been deprived of them unwillingly.

She had launched herself into a thorough investigation after her boss, Henry Hooch, had asked for her expertise as a woman. Madam Hooch's son was a brilliant Hit Wizard at the head of several, rather capable co-workers, and Ginny valued his judgment in all things concerning the hunt of dangerous criminals. He had been satisfied with her meagre findings, amongst which was the fact that the three witches had frequented the upper circles of society in the hopes of finding wealthy and prominent husbands. Though not exactly luxury prostitutes, these women were without a doubt gold-diggers of the upper classes, gorgeous women whose existence had come to an end all too soon. The last one, Ines Velasquez, a scrumptious brunette of twenty-two, had been found in a private booth at New Moon, which had prompted the closure of the elite nightclub for a few weeks.

Several months of research had yielded no further information, other than the fact that all three victims had, at some point or other, been seen at New Moon. Henry Hooch had summoned Ginny in his office and offered her an undercover mission as a go-go dancer.

"_I'm sorry?"_

"_You heard me, Ginny," Henry said with a smile, and the way his yellow eyes sparkled made her feel lighthearted. "I can hardly send John Hawk or Petey instead of you, wouldn't you agree?"_

"_What about Vivian? Or Heather?"_

"_Heather in a bikini, dancing on the bar?" Henry asked._

_Ginny pondered it for a second and grimaced._

"_Ok, maybe not, but I'm sure there are other –"_

"_You're the only women in the department," he pointed out._

_Ginny knew this to be true. Only three Hit Witches in their group were under the age of thirty, and of them, Ginny was the only remotely attractive one. She did not want to let Henry – or the rest of her team – down, but the prospect of wiggling around, scantily clad, for the benefit of London's wealthiest wizards, was not easy to stomach._

"_What will my parents say?" she said as the horrifying thought dawned upon her._

_Henry smiled winsomely, knowing that if she was asking that question, then she would likely agree. He was glad for that, as she was a damned good Hit Witch and could dance quite well, if he remembered the night they had welcomed Peter Brueghel into their midst._

"_We'll Owl them, as well as your brothers, to explain the situation. Don't worry: that'll be the easy part."_

So Ginny had agreed, coming up with a cover story that explained her presence as a go-go dancer to those who asked. Her job as Hit Wizard had thankfully been kept a secret for security purposes, so that most of her friends would probably buy that excuse, as well as her newfound interest in Medi-witchcraft. Unfortunately so, for her reputation. Ginny was to work there most nights, stopping before the end of the evening to enjoy a drink at the bar and allow wizards to come up to her and try to chat her up.

Until a week ago, Ginny's efforts had been met with limited success. She had been approached by many men, ranging from inebriated teenagers to stuttering ancestors, but none of them fit the bill – none of them had, after her flat refusal to sleep with them, pursued her with the relentless and tactful cunning she suspected of the killer. When Blaise Zabini had walked up to her, she had suddenly felt like she might be on to something. His feline grace and alternating suave and blunt manners had sparked some recognition. But that sense had been quickly and overwhelmingly washed away by Draco's arrival, his deceptive charm and hardly credible kindness. The way he had treated her had shocked her soundly, as she knew it could only be faked. Some veiled allusions, to the impunity of the wealthy or to spankings, indicated a taste for risky games that could have violent consequences, and everyone knew how those could degenerate into sadistic tendencies and other morbid games.

Everyone but Ginny, of course, who had never participated in those games and never, she told herself, would.

That said, Draco Malfoy perfectly matched the profile she had drawn of the killer: rich and privileged, he was accustomed to getting what he wanted, and who would dare get in the way of his condemnable tastes? The man who had served Voldemort could easily kill a few girls after having taken his pleasure from them, and the more she thought about it, the more Ginny understood how the poor victims had been drawn to him like moths to a flame. Ginny herself, with all she knew about him and everything she suspected, had felt jolts of excitement when their eyes met or when he gave her that ironic little smile.

"Well, Ginny, any luck?"

Henry Hooch strolled into her office, smelling of pines and wind like only the son of a flying instructor could. He caught Ginny's dark look and frowned.

"I think I might have a suspect, but so far it's more of a gut feeling than anything," she said.

He took a seat in front of her and gave her an encouraging smile.

"His name is Draco Malfoy. We went to school together, and he had some interactions with Death Eaters at several points during his teenage years." Upon hearing this, Henry's face grew more serious. "The thing is, our families never got along. His father nearly caused my death, and Draco himself got my brothers into more trouble and fights than I can remember. A few days ago, a friend of his, Blaise Zabini, started chatting me up after my shift. He was becoming a bit, ah, insistent, so Malfoy stepped in and sent him off. We had a chat, and the most extraordinary thing is that it actually was civil."

Henry was looking at her fondly, appreciating the clarity of her story and the fact that she paid attention to her instincts. He had been hesitant to send her into the lion's den at first, but had been convinced by his superiors that not only was she absolutely qualified, but that she was the only one who could convincingly pass for a go-go dancer and drive away an undesired suitor with a glare, while reserving her unforgiving curses for extreme situations.

"He escorted me to the door, helped me put my coat on, and even complimented me on my dancing!" She did not see how Henry winced at that. "The glib hypocrite! Anyway, I ran into him today, and he invited me to lunch at the Forbidden Fruit. _And_ he paid."

"I hear that's quite the restaurant," Henry observed.

"That's hardly the point, though, is it?" Ginny said, staring straight at him, a satisfied and conspiratorial look on her face. "Malfoy would never, ever do this, unless he had a motive. And there lies the rub!" she exclaimed triumphantly.

"Maybe he wants to go out with you," Henry said dubiously. It was his job to play devil's advocate, always, but he found himself enjoying this more than usual.

"Malfoy is not one to go for stability, if the tabloids my sister-in-law reads are any indication."

"Maybe he wants to sleep with you."

Ginny shook her head categorically.

"Not a chance. Not to mention, he can have anyone, so why would he bother with me?"

Henry had half a mind to answer that question himself, but as her superior and colleague, he knew it would not have been appropriate.

"Therefore, he wants something else. Maybe he wants me to trust him, so that I'll be easier to lure to where he usually operates. And because I'm a Weasley, he'd have no difficulty convincing me that we'd better keep our relationship a secret, thereby totally covering him after my death. That type of crime could probably be passed off as retaliation from whatever Death Eaters remain, or a passionate crime by some weirdo having seen me at New Moon. I think it's brilliant, actually."

Henry stared at her, going over the facts in his mind. It all seemed surprisingly sound, and he did not know Draco Malfoy well enough to counter Ginny's arguments.

"So what do we do now?" he asked.

"Actually, I was hoping you'd tell me," she said, smiling sheepishly and running a hand through her hair. "You see, he's been nice and everything, but there's no way we can be sure that it's him if I don't keep playing this game. I'm just worried he won't come back for more, as they say."

"Believe me," Henry said darkly, "he will."


	3. Chapter 3

**3. Whitecastle**

With the help of Blaise and house-elves appointed by Narcissa Malfoy, Ginny had no difficulty finding her way into the Malfoys' property of Whitecastle. Though Blaise had initially wanted Ginny to emerge from a humongous cake, Mrs. Malfoy had found that inelegant and refused flatly. Neither she nor her husband would be present at the celebration, but she did not want an event of such poor taste to take place, despite their absence. Ginny had exchanged a few owls with her, after which they had come to an agreement regarding the specifics of the event.

Whitecastle Manor was very much unlike what Ginny had expected, based on Ron's description of Malfoy Manor. No antique furniture could be found here, no impressive Persian rugs or opera-worthy chandeliers, no stuffy cornices or ostentatious bibelots. Though the ceilings were high and the windows wide in a way distinctly reminiscent of Versailles' most superb corridors, the columns that supported the simple ceilings were white and devoid of ornaments. Modern furniture of neutral tones allied elegance and sobriety, so that even the bronze busts scattered across the rooms added sophistication to the modern décor.

Ginny was to wait in a room that had been prepared for that use. Several books and magazines had been laid out for her enjoyment; tea and biscuits sat on a console. She even had access to a bathroom, and thick, fluffy towels had been prepared for her. The young woman appreciated the gestures of welcome, and sat down to rest a bit before her performance. She only hoped that few people would recognize her, as her team would have neither the time nor the resources to Obliviate them all once her assignment was over. She absorbed herself in the reading of Rimbaud's _The Drunken Boat_ until a house-elf came to fetch her.

Draco had been greeting his friends for an hour already, and was grudgingly grateful to Blaise for having organized this party. His friends' subtlety had protected the secret for less than a week, after which Draco had found out about the surprise birthday and had, albeit reluctantly, agreed to maintain it. Glasses of champagne and toasts of foie gras were passed around by house-elves. Suave music wrapped around guests without deafening them, establishing a mood of hip elegance that was the latest trend for the young professionals of the post-war world.

Suddenly, all the lights dimmed until darkness enveloped the guests and their surroundings in an opaque shroud.

"Blaise…" Draco growled.

He was certain he could hear his mocking laughter somewhere in the room, above the amused and curious whispers of his friends. A slow, languorous rhythm rose, accompanied by delicate cymbals and an oriental flute. Draco saw a candle light up a few feet ahead of him, held by a hand whose thin fingers were all it lit. The candle burnt off. Another candle was lit, located higher than the first, and when it moved to the side it revealed the gleam of amber eyes and fine features covered in black paint. It burnt off. As the rhythm became more pronounced and gained in speed, more candles were lit and followed the graceful movements of the woman who held them.

Because of the darkness, all that could be seen of the dancer was shown by the shifting candles. Her undulating torso, the arabesques made by her arms, the rapid yet small steps she made to bend or turn or sway like a swan's wing, were revealed by small bursts of candlelight. Draco watched, entranced, the hypnotizing gestures of the woman clad in black paint. She seemed familiar, but with her hair plastered back and painted dark, and the shifting sources of light, all he could do was surrender to the magic of her body as she danced amidst flying candles.

At last, in one gracious gesture, she revealed a small dome of chocolate adorned with a single candle. Time stood still as the dance ended, the woman holding the cake toward Draco, waiting, no doubt, for his friends to begin the birthday. And so, with Blaise leading them, they wished Draco the best of birthdays in a chorus of oddly assorted, if altogether enthusiastic, voices.

Stepping forward, Draco readied himself. In the flicker of the sole candle, he recognized the honey-brown of Ginny's eyes, burning with a flame of their own. He couldn't prevent himself from smiling, not entirely surprised. His eyes not leaving hers, he leaned forward and blew the candle. Applause and cheers erupted, and a few seconds later, the lights were on again. Ginny was gone.

As agreed, she had returned to her room following the performance. She took a warm shower, removing the paint that coated her skin and hair. She had always loved this dance, taught to her by the Patil twins after she had expressed an interest in Indian choreography, but had never shown it to anyone but them. A shiver ran though her as she thought back to the intensity of Draco's gaze when he had blown his candle. She was horrified to realize that it was not a shiver of fear.

Ginny wandered back into her room, where she found a house-elf standing so straight he appeared to have a ruler for a spine. He bowed very low.

"Miss Weasley, Master Malfoy would like to invite you to the rest of the festivities."

Ginny stared at him, eyes wide with surprise. This was indeed what she had hoped for, though she had expected it to be a request to wait for him in his quarters rather than an invitation to publicly attend his birthday.

"That would be lovely, but—" She looked down at her robes. "I'm afraid I'm not dressed up for the part."

"Master said that was not to be a problem, Miss Weasley. Master has the solution for everything."

And, indeed, a little while later, Ginny headed downstairs to the living room where, an hour prior, she had performed for the cream of British wizarding society. A few heads turned her way when she walked through the door, wearing a dark green dress that, though it was strapless, flared mid-thigh to reach her knee. Ginny thought it fit her perfectly, a fact that was a bit disturbing considering how well she knew Draco; to this, one could add the oddity of his having had a dress prepared for her, and one that highlighted her pretty shoulders and slender legs while preserving her modesty.

She went looking for her host, but he found her first.

"Green suits you marvellously."

"Thank you for the dress."

"Thank you for the dance."

Ginny smiled and shrugged.

"You have Blaise to thank for that. Who knew Slytherins could be such good friends?"

Draco took her arm and looped it around his, and started walking across the crowd.

"I'll have you know that Blaise is a pathetic excuse for a Slytherin. Champagne?"

"I'd like that, yes. Why is that?"

"He cannot keep a secret to save his life. My surprise birthday party, for one, was out in the open within a few days."

Ginny laughed, and the rich, throaty sound made Draco's eyes latch onto her lips. He longed to claim them as his own, but would have to wait until his guests left. He only hoped she would stay that long, and for that reason had asked the tailor house-elf to create a dress for her as soon as she had vanished following the dance. With the ease of the perfect host he had been raised to become, he handed her a flute of champagne and they toasted.

"So these are your friends?" Ginny asked in mock wonder.

"Yes, the ones you see here actually are."

"I would have expected them all to be Slytherins," she added, noticing quite a few Ravenclaws, as well as wizards looking distinctly foreign.

"I've outgrown my childhood prejudices," he said somewhat seriously, turning to look at her.

"Is that so?"

There was no mistaking the amusement in her voice.

"That is very much so," Draco said, leaning enough that she could feel the proximity of his skin.

Had they been alone, she would have closed the gap between their heads and reacquainted herself with the sharp planes of his face, with his thin and unyielding lips, with the strands of his hair that stuck to his forehead when things got too heated. Draco saw that longing in the way her pupils dilated, and gently tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear.

"Tease," she whispered.

"Not at all. I'd be happy to oblige," he murmured back.

A pretty Ravenclaw chose that moment to join them and start asking Draco about how his affairs were doing. Ginny could not remember her name, but expected more tact and intelligence from the Ravenclaw, who thoroughly ignored the tension between them. Ginny looked around and was half-glad to find Blaise walking toward her.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" he asked, offering her a glass of champagne.

Ginny couldn't help but think that, somehow, Slytherin men always seemed to have a flute of champagne ready for the innocent Gryffindor they thought her to be.

"I am, yes. I guess you were right about this being a good idea."

"I usually am."

He made the comment offhandedly, but the intensity of his gaze made Ginny falter. She briefly wondered why she had not noticed earlier that Blaise eyed her with the same hunger she occasionally found in his best friend's eyes. The young man immediately sensed her discomfort, and an amused smile twisted his lips.

"So tell me, Ginny Weasley, how does it feel to be in the serpent's den?"

The minute he used her nickname, Ginny was reminded of Blaise's shady behaviour the day he and Draco had first seen her at New Moon. This evening, though, their company forced him to be absolutely polite – as had the presence of Narcissa Malfoy when Ginny had agreed to celebrate Draco's birthday. Yet behind the impeccable manners, there was an unctuousness to his smile, a predatory quality to the way he always placed himself between her and Draco, that would have made him Ginny's top suspect had Draco not been the one showing explicit interest in her. Blaise could not have been more interested in her than in a Chinese vase, but at this moment Ginny would have given anything to be anything but that Chinese vase.

"I wouldn't call it the serpent's den, really. It's a beautiful house."

"Splendid, yes. It's a wonder the Malfoys were allowed to keep it after the war," he added thoughtfully, the glimmer of amusement still faint in his eye.

"Oh? Doesn't your family boast an equally splendid manor?" she spat back.

He grinned malevolently.

"My, my, aren't we getting touchy….Yes, we do have several properties across Europe."

"Proof that money will buy you anything."

"Proof that charm will get you anything, dear Ginevra. Nuance," he chuckled. "And speaking of Prince Charming," he added, pointing to Draco, who was headed toward them, "I know of one, at least, who doesn't like to share his toys."

"I'm no to—"

"Goodnight, Ginny."

He bowed obsequiously and was gone before Draco reached them. The fair-haired wizard did not look pleased. Though Ginny couldn't tell whether it was because of his discussion with the Ravenclaw or because of the curt words exchanged between Zabini and herself. Draco apologized for having abandoned her, and subsequently resumed his role as irreproachable host.

With grace and so subtly that she wasn't even aware of the fact, he made Ginny stay until most of the guests were gone. He invited her to dance, presented her to his friend or that one, went to fetch additional drinks or discussed the most random variety of subjects so that Ginny not once realized how late it was. Blaise had left, giving the pair a sly look. Astoria Greengrass had been nearly impolite in bidding her farewell, while Pansy Parkinson had worn a knowing look, indicating that Ginny would be the next notch on Draco's bedpost; she hadn't seemed to mind, and, ironically enough, neither had Ginny.

"Well, I should probably be getting home," Ginny said, when they were the only two remaining.

"Nonsense. You can stay in one of the guest rooms. Come, I'll show you the way," he said, and took her arm, leaving her no chance to refuse.

_This is it_, Ginny thought, glad that she still had her wand on her, her senses alert. She decided to highlight her reluctance, even though the adrenaline now coursing through her veins urged her to go along with it.

"But I really don't—"

Draco stopped and put a gentle finger on her lips.

"Please. I am grateful for what you did tonight, and for you to stay so late was more than I could hope for. I would feel like a miscreant if I allowed you to Floo home at this hour."

"I still have the Portkey."

Draco shook his head.

"It expired at midnight. I suppose neither my mother nor Blaise expected you to stay that long."

He strongly doubted that Blaise had been that innocent, but he found himself grateful for his tactful omission of the Portkey's limitations. He was beginning to suspect that Ginny would never have agreed to the fact had she known she wouldn't be able to leave. He had no idea just how wrong he was.

"How do you know that your mother helped?" she asked, following his lead in a silent assent to his proposition.

"How else would you have been able to get past Whitecastle's wards? Blaise is not a Malfoy."

Ginny acknowledged that and noticed that they were taking a set of stairs she was sure she did not recognize.

"My room isn't –"

"The house-elves took all your belongings and necessary items to a guest room. The one in which you stayed was only a resting rom."

Ginny rolled her eyes, but in the penumbra of the corridor he did not see her.

"So, how many rooms are there in Whitecastle?"

"Five suites with offices, twenty guest rooms, five resting rooms, three ball rooms, three dining rooms, seven salons, about a dozen boudoirs, six smoking rooms, two–"

"Enough," Ginny laughed. "I thought your mother said this was one of the smaller properties."

Draco looked at her with some surprise, although she could tell that he was amused by what she assumed to be her plebeian awe.

"It is," he confirmed very seriously.

"With more than fifty rooms? That doesn't sound very intimate," she retorted.

All of a sudden he had her backed up against a wall, his body flush against hers.

"Oh, I assure you, Ginny, that it can be _very_ intimate."

The spark of expectation that radiated through her belly was not, this time, caused by the thrill of the impending capture of Draco Malfoy, triple murderer of innocent young women. Caught somewhere between the thrill of the hunt and the excitement of completion, that sensation was entirely too good, nearly sinful. It was more than enough for her to fall into the very trap she had set for the young man.

"Is that so?" she asked quirkily, echoing their earlier conversation.

"That is," he replied, as his lips neared hers achingly slowly, "most definitely so."

She felt rather than heard his last words, the vibrations of sound running through her fleshy lips. Then their mouths melted together and there was no sound left but the rustling of their clothes, the brushing of their skin, and the gasps of exquisite pleasure that followed them to Draco's bed. Ginny belatedly realized that he had had no intent whatsoever to have her sleep in the guest room. She also realized that she was more than okay with that.


End file.
